Light of a Thousand Suns
by Valerie Shea
Summary: What more can death possible take away from one man? The story not often told of how a carefree and irresponsible boy came to be the proud and glorious Captain of Gondor. Please Read
1. The Price of Death

**Light of a Thousand Suns**

Faramir silently opened the door, his face grim and his eyes downcast, set upon the sagging form of his brother's shoulders as he sat alone by the fire burning in its hearth, the only warm presence in the bitter room.

His brother's shoulders shuddered and he heard a near inaudible sob escape his lips, and he fell from his bed, crying more bravely without any thought of his pride. Faramir slowly closed the door behind him and stood a distance away, listening to Boromir's broken and sorrowful moans; the sound crept under his skin and into his heart until he could not bear it anymore.

He approached Boromir and placed his hand on his arm, kneeling down beside him. His older brother would not even look at him, his eyes set upon the blankets that swaddled the precious form of his firstborn son. His only son. The life had finally gone from the newborn's cheeks after barely a night outside of the womb.

"Boromir," Faramir whispered gently, "there is nothing you could have done."

The tears poured down his face as he stroked the infant's cold forehead, rocking back and forth as a mother would to send her child to sleep. "Boromir," Faramir repeated, holding back tears of his own. "There is nothing you could have done. No child could survive a fever like that."

Boromir shook his head in desperate denial, unwilling to accept it. "No," he said, his voice dry and cracked. "This is impossible."

"Boromir, come with me to our father, and we will all mourn, but you should not be by yourself."

"Why?" Boromir looked into his younger brother's eyes defiantly, filled with anger and desolation. "What more could I lose? What more could death _possibly _take away from me?" He bit his quivering lip. "What more..."

Faramir finally cried along with him, grabbing his brother into a tight hug. Boromir took tight hold of his tunic and buried his face into Faramir's shoulder, as if afraid to let ago. "I've lost her..." He wailed, his voice muffled by Faramir's tight embrace.

"I've lost her..."


	2. Reckless Youth

"You bring nothing but chaos into this house!"

Boromir and Faramir both kept their heads bowed and stared sheepishly at the floor of the great hall, where their father, Denethor, sat shaking with anger in the seat of the Steward.

"Do you realize how serious this is?" Denethor spat furiously. "You almost set fire to the resting place of the great kings and stewards of Gondor! You almost destroyed our very heritage, the heritage of our people!"

"Father," Boromir spoke up, trying to calm him, "it was my fault, we had had too many--"

"Drinks, I know!" Denethor slammed his fist down. "And if I hear any whisper of you two anywhere near the taverns again, I will personally make sure that you will not be allowed outside the city gates. I will lock you in your rooms myself!"

Faramir hid a smirk, trying very hard not to laugh. Thankfully, Boromir saw and covered for him, speaking very seriously. "You're right, father, and we are very sorry. It will not happen again."

Denethor sighed in irritation. "Very well. Attend to your studies."

Boromir and Faramir bowed graciously and strode out of their father's presence; once he was out of an earshot, they both burst out laughing. "How many times do you think he believes we have been drunk?"

"Well, what were we going to say?" Boromir asked, putting his arm around his brother's shoulders. "Any other excuse would make us sound--"

"Stupid?" Faramir said, raising his eyebrow. They laughed and headed towards the stables.

"Are you going to train today?"

"No, are you?"

Boromir smirked as he mounted his horse. "I thought so."

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Their horses galloping majestically beside each other, the two sons of Gondor raced through the Pelennor Fields, enjoying the wind in their face and the smell of the farmland. Minas Tirith seemed so crowded, but in the freedom of the land, the boys were refreshed and eager with adventurous spirits.

Boromir, the elder, was nineteen years of age, nearing his twentieth birthday. He was handsome and tall, a true-to-be Captain of Gondor. Being the firstborn he was Denethor's favorite, but that did not keep him out of trouble. Reckless and irresponsible, he cared for nothing except the company of his brother.

Faramir was seventeen, and honestly enough, he was the more thoughtful of the two boys. He did not like getting into trouble but had to follow Boromir wherever he went, so ended up getting in trouble anyway. He knew Denethor cared little for him and was skeptical of his every move, but when he was with his older brother, the need for affection from his father ceased, and was filled by Boromir.

They were the best of friends, not rivals, as Denethor liked to think at times. Boromir, being well-built and more powerful, preferred combat with the sword--while Faramir, the smaller and more limber child, was a master at archery.

After a long while they both dismounted and walked alongside each other. "I think we should go back," Faramir said finally.

"You can if you like, I want to stay a while." Boromir said, breathing in the summer breeze.

"Well, all right. You won't be too late, though?" Faramir said as he mounted his horse and turned towards Minas Tirith.

"No, I'll be home before long."

After Faramir had gone, Boromir sat in the grass and allowed his horse to run free for a while. He loved the rolling hills just outside the Pelennor Fields, where many of the less fortunate people of Gondor lived and worked. He envied the poor, that they had so much beauty in their midst.

He would have fallen asleep if he had not heard a sound--a gentle, quiet song, in a foreign tongue. He sat up quickly and looked around.

There she was, dancing and playing with his horse, chasing it, catching it, and then dancing with it again. They moved to and fro like a merry couple; she wore a blue sown dress, and her hair was a golden waterfall of shimmering color that caught in the wind. He saw her lips move...yes, it was she that was singing that alluring song, a lullaby that soothed the ears and relaxed his heart.

He was almost afraid to stand, or say anything, for fear she would run away. Her beauty moved him so deeply that he finally gathered the courage to approach her. When she saw him, she did not flee, but rather stood very still. Instead of bowing her head, like most people did in honor of the future Captain of Gondor, she kept herself level, and stared at him. It surprised and pleased him at the same time, but his hopeful smile faltered when he saw the look of defiance.

"Thank you," Boromir managed to say as he fitted his horse's reins. "It would have taken me forever to catch him."

"Do not thank me, sir."

"But I believe I should." Boromir said, taking a step towards her.

"Just take your leave. That will be thanks enough." She said stubbornly.

Boromir looked down at the insignia of his leather tunic, which seemed to be the root of her displeasure. "What is it about me that you fear?"

"I fear nothing, but I would prefer not to have an encounter with any of you soldiers."

"Soldiers?" Boromir asked, a little confused. "Have they harmed or assaulted you? Tell me their names and they shall be punished immediately."

"You're not a soldier?"

"Well, I suppose I will be someday, in a way. I will be Captain of Gondor."

The look of annoyance reappeared in her eyes. Boromir continued. "I mean you no harm, if that is what you fear."

"I told you, I am not afraid of you."

"Well, of that I am glad." Boromir smiled. "You have not answered my question. Have any of my father's soldiers assaulted or harassed you? Please tell me."

"Well...no." She admitted finally. "But I was strictly told to avoid them."

Boromir raised his eyebrow. "Well that's unkind. How is it that all soldiers are to be avoided? We keep this land safe." He noticed her ears. "Or perhaps someone made a bad first impression on you and your kind."

"That is also unkind." She snorted. "My prejudice does not necessarily extend to others."

"Then I think we should come to a truce." Boromir said, rather amused. "You will not pierce my soldiers' armor with your generalizations, and I will make sure to avoid the same." He smiled again, enjoying her beauty.

"All right then," she said reluctantly. "A truce."

"Well, I won't be any trouble to you, and will go my way." Boromir said, mounting his horse. "May I have your name?"

"What will you use it for?"

"Oh, a song perhaps," Boromir smirked mischieviously. "I'll have a minstrel compose one, so that I will never forget today. Of course, no man's voice could compare to yours."

She managed to smile a little. "Melian."

"Melian," Boromir repeated. "I assume you are Elven?"

She nodded and Boromir turned his horse around, his eyes still upon her. "Then welcome to Gondor, Melian." And with a loud shout he went galloping towards Minas Tirith, her name ringing a bell in his heart.


	3. Mortality

It took Faramir quite a while to find his brother, and when he finally did, he was caught off guard by the infatuated way Boromir was staring at the ceiling, obviously rather distracted from his studies. Faramir came to stand beside him, and glanced upwards with him. "What's so interesting?"

Boromir shook his head, as if coming out of a trance. "Oh, nothing, I just..." He smiled a bit and stretched, putting down his quill. "I'm just a little tired."

Faramir raised his eyebrow and looked down at the piece of parchment Boromir had been writing on. He reached for it. "What's this--?"

Boromir snatched it away. "It's nothing."

"Then why are you hiding it?" Faramir grinned, trying to grab it from him. "Come on, let me see!"

"No!"

They wrestled for the piece of paper but finally Faramir managed to wring it away from his brother's grasp and jumped away before Boromir could tackle him, unwrapping the crumpled sheet of paper. "'With hair the color of golden wheat, and eyes that shine as the--what is this, it doesn't even rhyme!"

"Give it here!" Boromir said desperately, but Faramir evaded him, holding the paper above his head.

"Who is this about? Did you meet someone? Is she pretty?"

"Come on, we're too old for this!" Boromir sighed, and Faramir handed over the parchment.

"You know you can always tell me anything," Faramir said, a little disappointed.

"I know, I just wish you did not have to see that." Boromir crumpled the paper and threw it away.

"How did you meet her? What's her name?" Faramir asked, crossing his arms.

Boromir smiled as he remembered. "She was dancing."

"Dancing?"

"And singing. Her voice..."

"Spare me your verse, please," Faramir begged, laughing a little at the completely captivated and far-away gaze of his older brother. "Well, what is her name?"

"Melian." Boromir said, and added proudly, "she's Elven."

Faramir's look of amusement faltered. "Elven?"

"Yes, what's wrong with that?"

"Well, a lot of things." Faramir said with concern. "For one, she is immortal."

"So?"

"Meaning she probably is far older than you, and will live longer when you pass away."

"All women outlive men." Boromir pointed out. "Especially if they are the wives of soldiers."

"Wives?" Faramir said with worry. "Boromir...you really think that her people will allow her to fall away from them for a non-Elven man?"

"Why not? I am the son of the Steward of Gondor. Isn't that considered a high honor, even among the Elves?" Boromir asked, now a little irritated with his brother's tone of voice.

"I can see there's no changing your mind." Faramir said, shaking his head. He set his hand on his brother's shoulder. "Just step carefully. Do not anger her family...or ours."

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

The words of Faramir, as annoying as they were to Boromir, had some truth in them. Boromir had not thought of what it meant to pursue a woman of a different race and age. Could it be that such a beautiful girl would not accept him for being a mortal man?

"Immortality," Boromir said aloud, dwelling on it a long time. Would he have the nerve to ask a girl to give up an eternity for a few short years with him?

"What troubles you, my firstborn?" Denethor asked, entering Boromir's room. He sat down beside him on his bed, as his son stared intently into the burning fire.

"Many things." Boromir said quietly. He hesitated, and continued. "Father, would it be wrong of a person to...ask another to give up...his...life for him?"

"His?" Denethor said, pursing his lips. "If I recall correctly, Faramir mentioned that what troubles you is no man."

Boromir looked at his father and scowled, irritated that his brother dared to say anything of this to anyone, but let it go for the sake of Denethor's advice. "I met her a few days ago. She is Elven."

"And you are determined to have this young woman?" Denethor asked, anticipating his answer.

"I want her more than anything," Boromir said quickly, "but to ask her to give up her immortal life, for that of a short existance filled with grief...is that at all right?"

"Why don't we find out." Denethor said, patting Boromir's back. "I know of this girl you speak; Melian, she is called, and she is the daughter of an Elven emissary, sent to watch the borders of Mordor. I have invited them to dwell in Minas Tirith, and I will hold a banquet in their honor."

He smiled. "You shall see her again, and I will make sure to speak of this matterwith her guardians."


End file.
